


What's My Age Again?

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [13]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan Fluff, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan Future Fic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Humor, killian jones versus the modern world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 18:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Captain Hook never imagined he would captain a decrepit vessel or have trouble keeping a crew in line. Until he became a father. Or Killian Jones vs. the family minivan. For xhookswenchx on her birthday.Set in the universe of Shopping With the Captain, but with no shopping. Can be read on its own.





	What's My Age Again?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xhookswenchx (ReluctantPrincess)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReluctantPrincess/gifts).



> * Like most stories in this universe, this one was inspired by misadventures with my own kids. Our minivan really does have all the quirks the one in this story does, and these kids are essentially my kids. Parenting is hard, folks, but it's also hilarious.  
> * The title is from the song by Blink 182, but it has nothing whatsoever to do with that song. Actually, this story is probably the exact opposite of that song. We'll just say I was being ironic!

Killian Jones had lived many long years, hundreds of years, on a ship at sea with uncouth, dirty men. Yet he had managed to keep said ship in beautiful condition and said crew in line. So how in the world had he been defeated by a mini-van and three small children? 

They bought the mini-van when Ian was only a few weeks old. He and his older sister were what this realm called “Irish twins.” In other words, Ian had been a complete, unplanned surprise who arrived one month before his big sister’s first birthday. The little lad came home to nothing but a pack and play in the master bedroom, carried up the porch steps in his sister’s pink baby carrier. They had gotten rid of everything from Evan’s infancy, deciding that one boy and one girl was enough. And then, surprise!

Killian couldn’t decide what, exactly, caused the mini-van to descend so rapidly into squalor. It could have been the sheer exhaustion of having three kids under the age of four, two of them under two. There was a span of two years that went by in a blur of sleepless nights, diapers, and a double stroller, so keeping the van clean definitely could have fallen by the wayside. Or it could have been Emma’s somewhat messy habits. Or it could have been the fact that Evan sat alone in the very back seat – an area they had come to dub “the black hole.”

Yet it wasn’t just the mess. One at a time, things started to break. Killian knew what to blame that on – the cheap material called plastic that this realm seemed to prefer. First it was the button that opened the gas cap. Now every time they had to fill up the tank, they were forced to walk to the back of the van, open the lift gate, slide open an access panel, and gently pull a wire. Gently being vitally important lest you snap said wire. 

Then it was the handle on the right back door. One day, Evan pulled on it, and it just snapped. You could slide the door open or shut from the inside, but not the outside. Then the sound system started shorting out. They would be driving down the road when the radio would suddenly start screeching like an angry dragon. He and Emma had figured out if they pounded on the dashboard hard enough, it would stop. But it was all simple, unimportant things. The van drove just fine, and when they found out how much all the tiny little broken things would cost to fix, he and Emma both decided it wasn’t worth it. 

“We can look up a video on You Tube and fix it ourselves,” Emma said, and Killian agreed. It was quite remarkable, really, the things a man could learn on that magic box. They had managed to fix their clothes dryer, oven, and ice maker with its assistance, surely the van would be no different.  Only finding the time to do it was the issue. Between ballet lessons, baseball practice, school, and work, they just never got around to fixing the myriad of little things wrong with the mini-van. 

Which was fine. Mostly. But Killian Jones had been Captain of the finest ship in the realms. He had kept it fine order, all spit and polish. Every single time he reached for that broken handle or pounded his fist on the dashboard, he felt shame, as ridiculous as it sounded. He winced every time his kids tumbled from the mini-van sending empty chip bags and to-go cups from Granny’s falling to the ground. 

The cracked windshield is what started to nudge him towards the proverbial edge. He noticed it when he was herding the kids into the van one Saturday morning. The boys had outgrown their baseball cleats, and Storybrooke didn’t have a sporting goods store. Emma wasn’t feeling well, so Killian offered to get all three munchkins out of her hair for the morning.  His jaw dropped when he saw the crack running all the way down the middle of the windshield. 

“Bloody hell!”

“It wasn’t me!” all three kids blurted out simultaneously.

Killian swiveled to face  them,  his eyes narrowed. “Now why would you feel the need to immediately point that out?”

All three responded according to type. Evan, the ten-year-old, crossed his arms and quirked a brow in defiance. Briar Rose, the seven-year-old, stuck out her trembling lower lip, her big green eyes already swimming with fat tears. Ian, the six-year-old, ducked his head so low, his nose was practically touching his chest. 

“The boys stepped on it, Daddy,” Briar Rose told him in a wobbly voice. 

Evan turned on her immediately. “Only to get your stupid My Little Pony off the roof!”

Killian held up his hand to silence them. “Okay, back up. What happened? Start at the beginning,” Evan and Briar Rose started shouting over each other, and Killian sliced his hand through the air. “Stop! Briar Rose, cygnet, what happened?”

“You always take her side!” Evan shouted. Killian glared at him, and he snapped his mouth shut. 

“I was playing superhero ponies with Ian, and we were making them fly. Then Evan said Pinkie Pie was a stupid pony -”

“- I did not!”

“You did to!”

Killian rubbed his forehead wearily. “The window?”

“Evan threw Pinkie Pie super hard,” Ian piped up.

Killian cocked his head. “That shouldn’t have cracked the window.”

Briar Rose shook her head solemnly. “No. The rock did that.”

“No,” Evan argued, “the rock made the tiny one. Ian’s foot made the crack.”

“You climbed too!” Ian shouted, shoving his big brother, and soon the boys were rolling on the grass. 

Killian pulled them apart. “That’s enough! I think I got the gist of the story. Just . . . “ he sighed, “get in the van.”

Yes, driving for an hour into the next town over while staring at that crack set Killian on edge. But it was that stupid broken back  door  that would finally make him  snap .

***************************************************

Going shopping with the kids was never Killian’s favorite past time, shoe shopping least of all. But getting the cleats ended up being less of a headache than he anticipated. Knowing that Emma wasn’t feeling so well, he took the kids over to a nearby park with a playground for a picnic lunch. The stress over his quickly deteriorating vessel ebbed under the warm sun and spring breeze. And despite their mischievousness, he adored his children. Getting to have this time with them was precious, especially when he thought how quickly the years were flying by. Evan was in the double digits now and increasingly independent. Briar Rose was still small enough for him to carry, though he was always surprised at how gangly her arms and legs had become. And Ian, their baby, overnight had seemed to lose the baby fat in his cheeks. 

He was surprised to see that it was past four o’clock and knew that they needed to get home before dinner. Naturally, the kids didn’t want to leave, and pulling them away from the playground was ten times harder than dragging his old crew out of a tavern. 

Perhaps he had lost his touch. 

They dragged their feet all the way to the van, and even when they were inside continued to test his patience. Killian had already buckled and was inserting his key in the ignition when he glanced back to see the sliding back door still wide open. 

“How many times do I have to tell you three to close the door behind you?” 

An argument ensued over who was the last one in. Naturally. Killian sighed. 

“Fine,” he muttered, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of. He reached for the back seat’s one functioning handle, but before he could slide the door closed, a wasp flew in. 

Briar Rose screamed as if she were being devoured by a kraken. Ian panicked, flailing his arms and legs. Evan started throwing toys, trash, shoes, and a myriad of other items from the black hole at the wasp. This of course made Briar Rose yell at him to stop making it mad. The wasp came to rest on the window right by Briar Rose’s head. She screamed at the top of her lungs, yet the wasp didn’t move. Killian hit the button to lower the window, but the windows on the sliding doors only went halfway down, and the wasp seemed in no hurry to leave the mini-van. Briar rose yanked at the door handle frantically, but it wouldn’t budge. She started to cry.

If there was one thing in the world that Killian would move heaven and earth for it was to stop his little girl’s tears. He darted around the mini-van and without hesitation, reached through the window and flicked at the wasp with his hook. 

It decided to land on the appendage. “Bloody hell,” Killian muttered, flicking his hook to get it off. It finally did, but not before stinging Killian’s good hand. He muttered obscenities as he shook the bugger off. 

“Words, Daddy,” Briar Rose admonished.

“Words are allowed when stung by a wasp, darling,” Killian said before shutting the open door that had started the whole thing and climbing behind the wheel. He started the car, and immediately it was filled with an irritating electronic dinging. Killian muttered at the screen behind the wheel. A door was open. Grumbling, he marched all around the van, shutting every door. Still the dinging. 

“I think it’s my door, Daddy,” Briar Rose said. 

He groaned. Great, the broken door. He went around and tried to use the broken handle, to no avail. He climbed in the back seat, his centuries old joints creaking and protesting, and tried to slide it open from the inside. It wouldn’t budge. Yet Briar Rose was right –  some how  she had managed to open the door the tiniest crack, and now it wouldn’t slide back

“We’ll just have to deal with that infernal noise until we can get it to a mechanic.” 

Protests rose from the back seat.

“But it’s so annoying!”

“Fix it, Daddy!”

“Why can’t you turn it off?”

“Because you three won’t take care of this van, that’s why!” Killian thundered, his patience finally snapping. “And you won’t shut the damn door behind you when you get in even though I’ve told you a thousand times! None of this would have happened if you’d just listen to me for once!”

Silence descended on the van. Evan slumped down so low in the back  seat,  Killian couldn’t see him in the rearview mirror. Ian ducked his head to his chin, his blonde hair hiding his face. Briar Rose curled up in a ball, her chin trembling.  Killian clenched his jaw, guilt warring with his irritation as he pulled out of the parking lot. The dinging sound mercifully stopped when he got to a red light. That’s when he heard a worse sound – Briar Rose crying. He turned his head to look back at his baby girl. Huge tears were rolling down her cheeks. The guilt won.

“I am so sorry for yelling like that, little love,” he told her gently. “Please, please forgive me?”

Briar Rose managed a half smile as she sniffled and nodded her head. 

“Really,” Killian repeated, addressing all three children, “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I love you all, you know that, right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” they all chorused.

The kids still weren’t their normal, exuberant, chatty selves as they went on their way. It may have had more to do with the continual beeping than his temper, however.  It had only ceased at the red light, Killian discovered, because the van was no longer in motion. The longer the beeping went, the more Killian’s head throbbed. He found himself wishing fervently for red lights, yet all that would do was prolong the trip home. 

“I can’t take it anymore!” Evan cried out.

“Me either,” Ian whined.

“Can’t you stop it Daddy?” Briar Rose begged in what Emma called her  _ Daddy’s girl voice. _

“I really can’t.” Killian had read the owner’s manual cover to cover when they first got the van. He had read all about the doors, their safety features, and how to use the child lock system. There hadn’t been anything about how to stop the infernal beeping if the door wouldn’t shut. 

Killian turned up the radio as loud as he could, trying to drown out the beeping. That only gave him a bigger headache. Then his hand started to throb, and he looked down to see that the wasp sting had swollen to the size of a grape. He squeezed his hand to find that his fingers were getting stiff. His headache moved from the front of his forehead and spread all the way to the base of his skull. Was there a red light soon? No, just miles and miles of Maine country highway all the way to bloody Storybrooke. 

And that’s when he snapped. The beeping, his pounding head, his throbbing hand, his three children who had now taken up another chorus of whining. And he lost it plain and simple, leveling his fury on the computer panel above the steering wheel. With a loud shout, he plunged his hook right through the speedometer, and with a shower of sparks the beeping finally stopped. 

There was a beat of blessed silence.

“That. Was. AWESOME DAD!!!” Evan shouted.

“You murdered the van,” Ian whispered in awe.

Briar Rose’s jaw dropped as her eyes grew wide. “Daddy, what will Mommy say?”

“I didn’t murder the van,” Killian argued, “it’s a machine.”

Ian’s lower lip quivered. “BB-8 is a machine. Would you stab him with your hook too?”

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered. Were they home yet?

Killian was surprised to see Emma sitting on the front porch swing when they got home. She rose to greet them at the front walk with a smile that looked weary. She looked like she still wasn’t feeling well. 

The kids tumbled out of the van like desperate sailors on shore leave, as usual. They were chattering a mile a minute at their mother before Killian could even get out of the van. 

“Daddy killed the van!”

“Sparks went everyone!”

“It was awesome!”

Emma’s eyebrows rose as she turned to him. “You did what?”

“I can explain Swan,” he began, raising his hand and his hook in supplication.

“Oh my God, what happened to your hand?” Emma exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm so she could look at the wasp sting. Now his entire hand had puffed up like a balloon. 

“Well, that’s how it all started -”

“What happened to the van?” she screeched, cutting him off. She dropped his arm and leaned into the driver’s seat. 

“A wasp tried to kill us, so then Daddy killed the van,” Briar Rose piped up, as if that were the clearest explanation in the world. 

“There’s a hole in the computer screen, Killian,” Emma turned to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “You plunged your hook into our mini - van!”

“It was the only way I could stop the beeping!  There was a wasp, and we were trying to get it out, and you know how that one door is broken, and then the beeping -”

“Killian Jones, how old are you!”

He didn’t understand why she was getting so worked up. It wasn’t as if the van weren’t falling apart already. “Three hundred and twenty, give or take, but what the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I just think you could be an adult, for God’s sake and control your temper! Especially around our children!” 

She shoved past him and stomped her way up the porch steps and into the house. Killian glanced down at Evan, who shrugged.

“Women,” the ten-year-old said sagely. 

“And how old are  _ you _ ? Ten going on thirty?” Killian asked wryly as he playfully nudged his son’s shoulder. “Why don’t you three play out here for a little while? I need to talk to your mother.”

Killian opened the door gently, softly calling out Emma’s name. He found her sitting on the bottom of the stairs with her head in her hands. When she heard him call her name, she looked up, and he saw tears had stained her cheeks. 

“Emma, I’m sorry about the van. You’re right, I lost my temper. I yelled at the children too, which makes me feel even worse.” He chuckled as he ran his swollen fingers through his hair. “After over three centuries, I think I’m finally feeling my age.”

“You mean you think you’re too old for all of this?” Emma asked in a small voice. 

He tilted his head as he studied her, still unable to read what was going on in her head. “If you’re asking if I have regrets, then absolutely not. I wouldn’t  trade  you or the kids for one second. Although my old bones did creak when I was crawling through that back seat today.”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Emma cried, leaping to her feet. “I’m feeling my bones creak too, you know.” And after that proclamation, she turned and fled up the stairs. 

He rubbed wearily at his forehead. His headache was back. 

*****************************************************

Since Emma clearly wasn’t feeling like herself, Killian had walked to Granny’s with the kids to pick up dinner. When they got back, even grilled cheese and onion rings couldn’t lure her from the master bathroom. She said she was soaking in the tub, but Killian had known her long enough to hear tears in her voice, even when she tried valiantly to hide it. 

“Are you worried about Mommy?” Briar Rose asked after swallowing a bite of her onion rings. 

“Why do you ask that, cygnet?”

“Because you’re playing with your food,” she said matter-of-factly. He frowned as he looked down at his lasagna and  ceasar  salad. He’d barely taken three bites. He looked up at his children, who were watching him intently. They were far too perceptive; it was in their genes. 

“Is Mommy mad that we made you kill the van?” Ian asked, his brow furrowed seriously.

“Oh no, lad,” Killian quickly assured, rubbing his son’s blonde head. He tilted his chin up with his good hand. “And for the record, I did  _ not  _ kill the van.

“Yeah, Ian,” Evan explained in a superior voice. He liked to lecture his younger siblings. “The van doesn’t go on missions like BB-8. You can ask Henry.”

Ian nodded as if that were that. “You can ask Henry” was a common refrain meaning that something was an  indisputable  fact. 

“Your Mommy just doesn’t feel well,” Killian attempted to put the children’s minds at ease, “and sometimes when you don’t feel well, you get upset easily.”

“Like when Briar Rose and Ian were in Mommy’s tummy.”

“Yes, Evan,  like .  . .  “ Killian  trailed off, the full realization of his son’s words hitting him. He rose abruptly from the table and turned towards the stairs, but before going up, he dashed over to his oldest and clasped Evan on the shoulder. “How old are you again, son?”

“Ten -”

“- going on thirty.”

When Killian opened their bedroom door, all the lights were off. He could just make out Emma’s form on the bed, curled into the fetal position beneath the covers, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. He eased down next to her, reaching out to play with the ends of her hair. It was still damp from her bath. He frowned when she remained with her back to him. He swallowed, weighing his words before plunging forward anyway.

“We’re having another baby, aren’t we?” he asked softly.

Emma rolled over then. The last remnants of day clung to the twilight hour, illuminating her tear stained face. He slid down in the bed, opening his arms for her, and she came willingly into his arms. 

“I just turned forty, Killian,” she mumbled against his chest. “That means I’ll be  _ fifty-eight  _ when this kid graduates from high school.”

Killian could have pointed out that he had three centuries on her, but he knew now wasn’t the time. Besides, that may be how old he was chronologically, but physically he was only a few years older than Emma. 

She sniffled, wiped her nose on his sleeve, and then continued. “Then you come home, and I find out you lost it over our disaster of a mini-van, and I guess I just panicked. I mean, if we can’t handle this mess we’ve got now, how can we handle another kid? Especially a newborn who’s up all night? And diapers, and all the  _ stuff _  you have to haul around, and – oh my God! - potty training! I suck at  potty  training, and now I have to go through that hell all over again!”

“And yet our children use the facilities just fine,” Killian chuckled. 

Emma rolled over to glare at him, and he knew it was too soon for a joke. “And  _ you –  _ talking about your old bones and shit.”

She pushed at him as if to leave the bed, but he wrapped his arms around her waist. She didn’t put up a fight. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and murmured his words soothingly against her hair.

“I would be lying if I said this news didn’t bring some trepidation with it. But it also brings joy, love.” He pulled away so he could cup her face with his hand. “I was just thinking today as I played with the kids at the park how fast time was going. I thought of how I missed chubby babies asleep against my chest.”

“You do look hot with a baby on your chest,” Emma conceded, giving him a wobbly smile. 

“And nothing makes my heart swell with joy quite like watching you carry a child created through our love.” He brushed a chaste kiss to her lips. “And as for the sleepless nights, the diapers, the potty training, and the  _ stuff _ ,we  don’t have to do it alone.”

Emma rolled her eyes, even as her smile widened. “I know, we have each other.”

Killian quirked an eyebrow. “Well yes, but I was referring to the three built in  babysitters  downstairs. We didn’t have three over the age of six the last time.”

Emma’s eyes brightened. “You’re right! I was thinking of the two year blur the last time, but . . . this is different, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, rubbing his thumb across her cheek.

“We have a ten-year-old! He’ll be eleven by the time the baby comes.” Emma frowned. “But is that fair?”

“Course it is,” Killian assured her as he tugged her against his chest. “Evan isn’t ten, he’s ten going on thirty.”

Emma laughed. “He is rather precocious, isn’t he?” She sat up and straddled Killian. She ran her hands down the front of his shirt, fiddling with the buttons. “And what about you, old man? How old will you be when this kid graduates from high school?”

“Let me show you love,” he growled, grabbing her hips, “how virile I still am.”

Eight months later, another little girl joined the Jones family. Abigail Jones. Abigail meant “joy” in Hebrew. Both her parents and all three of her siblings thought it was fitting. 

**Author's Note:**

> * Yes, I have to open the back of my van to open the gas cap. Yes, I am constantly pounding on the dashboard when the radio shorts out. Yes, there is a crack all the way down the middle of the windshield. Yes, one door won't open, and yes, I drove almost an hour the other day with a constant beeping sound. Believe me, I was wishing for a weapon to silence that onboard computer! Yes, my kids never remember to shut the damn door, and the other day a wasp flew in while they argued over who got in last. Which was how the broken door got opened a crack. However, I didn't get stung. And no - unlike Emma, I am not pregnant with a fourth. Thank God!


End file.
